


A Question of Quantum Physics, Molecular Attraction and Timing

by gottalovev



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: (sort of), Alternate Universe, Identity Porn, M/M, Neighbors, Rodney is Rodney, and rodney is bad at guessing, but there are clues, john is a mystery, not tagging the reveal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-03-20 09:06:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18989572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gottalovev/pseuds/gottalovev
Summary: Rodney tries to guess what his new neighbour does for a living. John is amused.(import of a story from 2010)





	A Question of Quantum Physics, Molecular Attraction and Timing

**Author's Note:**

> This is an old fic from August 2010 written for McShep Match (Team Work). I was informed that the link is broken (website hosting it seems to not exist anymore? A shame!), but I found the story through the Wayback Machine. So here it is! I always liked that one, and I wanted it on my AO3 :)

There is something that just isn't right, doesn't flow, and it's driving Rodney nuts. He should be able to spot the error right away, and not just have a hunch. A hunch. He _hates_ the sole concept of 'having a hunch'. It's not based on anything concrete, and that's totally unacceptable. He went over the code four times now, determined not to get up until he finds the damn loop but it's getting late in the afternoon, with no progress, and he's starving. For one interminable second, he looks at the telephone: should he ask for help? The mere idea of admitting willingly that he's not able to get out of this impasse makes Rodney feel sick. No, he'll find it. He just needs a break, some food, and then he'll get his focus back and probably find it easily. A break it is.

Rodney stretches and as he goes to the kitchen - there should be something left to eat - he notices movement in Katie's backyard, which make him pause. What the... he's about to go on his deck and yell at the trespassers to get out of there, when he sees the moving truck in the driveway, and well-muscled guys carrying furniture _into_ the house. Oh. So it sold, finally. Rodney sighs. It had been a blissful three months of peace, with no neighbours. No forced chitchat to seem civil in the driveway, not having to care if he went out on the deck in his favourite bathrobe and worrying about giving an involuntary show, no awkward waves after a couple of disastrous dates.

He observes the movers, and is relieved when there's nothing obviously pointing to children. There are way too many exercise machines, though. As he nibbles on a chicken leg, Rodney lets his mind wander and tries to imagine the new neighbour, who's obviously not there to supervise his unpacking. Who does that? Obviously someone who doesn't care about his stuff very much, and Rodney's automatically wary of the guy. Or the girl. Oh, it could be a very fit woman; he likes the idea of that. Rodney just hopes it's not the perfect little suburban couple with matching Volvos: that would make him want to gag.

Since there's no point in daydreaming, Rodney finishes the still acceptable potato salad and goes back to work.

***

The travel mug almost falls to the ground as Rodney locks his door, arms full with his jacket, briefcase and computer bag. God, he hates those meetings with clients who want to micromanage so much, and now to top it off, he's late. He's juggling with the keys again at the car when the garage door at Katie's... well at the new neighbour's place opens. Slowly, the door lifts to show ridiculous flip flops, then hairy legs, and Rodney finds him himself fixated on the reveal. After the movers came and went four days ago, Rodney had not seen any sign that someone actually _lived there_.  Atrocious flowery board shorts give way to a quite nice torso in a tight black t-shirt, but the real surprise comes when the guy is totally hot: regular features that could get qualified as 'pretty', lovely mouth and black hair sticking up this way and that.  It's possible that Rodney continues staring. Upon meeting his eyes, the neighbour smiles, a bit tightly. Maybe he's shy or something, or doesn't quite appreciate being stared at. Annoyed at himself, Rodney puts his attention back on his task, which is pushing the tiny button that will unlock his door as he addresses his hot neighbour.

"So there _is_ someone living in that house," Rodney says. "Shame, really. I liked the quiet."

Rodney never claimed that he was civil or a good neighbour. Hot Stranger better get used to it. There's a snorted laugh and when Rodney glances at the guy, he's now smiling for real. This makes him go from handsome and hot to drop-dead-gorgeous and hot.

"Sucks to be you," he drawls, obviously amused.

"Apparently," Rodney agrees and yelps as he almost drops his coffee again, although he manages to plaster himself against the car so it's perilously held in place between his thigh and the door. Rodney's pretty sure that he won't be able to juggle his stuff and retrieve the coffee when Hot Neighbour saves the day, suddenly there to help grab the mug.

With a sigh of utter relief, Rodney finally manages the door and puts his stuff on the backseat; he's not even straightened up again before he grabs the mug back, slides the lid open and takes a heavenly gulp. Reassured that there is still quality caffeine in his immediate future, only then does Rodney looks at his saviour.

"Oh, god, thank you," he says fervently, taking another sip. "I'm pretty sure that there's no way I could survive this day if I had lost this."

"You're welcome." Stranger says. "Big meeting?"

"Yes, I need to convince Boeing that their billion dollars is exactly where it needs to be, in my business," Rodney says, unable to resist bragging a little. It earns him raised eyebrows.

"Well good luck with that, then," he says. "And what business would that be?"

"Pegasus Unlimited, aerospace design and development," Rodney says proudly. "Dr Rodney McKay, co-founder," he adds. They made the top 30 of the most promising companies in Businessweek last year. He offers his hand.

"John Sheppard," he says, shaking firmly with a smile, although there is something half wary and expectant in his expression right now. Not everyone can have his own business; it's normal that Sheppard is a bit impressed. Rodney lets his hand go and gestures to the car.

"Nice to meet you, and thanks for the save again. I really need to go."

It's as if Sheppard is surprised at that, but he covers it with a smile

"Okay, cool. I guess I'll see you around."

"Well, you do live next door, you know," Rodney says with an eye roll. "I'd say the chances are high."

"Good luck with the meeting," Sheppard says as Rodney slides in his car.

"Please. I am doing THEM a favour, they ought to see that," Rodney says, before slamming the door. The clock in the dash unhelpfully tells him he's going to be late when he starts the car, so Rodney puts the thing in reverse and goes. Sheppard is watching him leave and later, once he's on the freeway, Rodney realizes he didn't ask what Hot Stranger—he really should start calling him John in his head, or he'll end up embarrassing himself - was doing for a living. Oh well. He'll find out soon enough, he guesses.

***

Unfortunately, Rodney doesn't manage to speak with Sheppard for a couple of days. He did catch glimpses of him going for runs with a cap and aviator shades, even when it was not that sunny, almost every morning. (Why people do that willingly escapes Rodney). What's clear is that they don't seem to keep the same hours: Sheppard generally leaves early after lunch, and comes back late evening. Then he disappears for over a week again.

One day when he comes back from Pegasus Unlimited, Rodney sees that his elusive neighbour is back, and that he just finished waxing his car. A sports car, why is he not surprised? At least it's not red, but a nice bottle green. For a second there, Rodney wonders if he's expected to speak to the guy. He's about to settle on an awkward wave - God, not those again! - when he's totally derailed.

"Hey, Rodney!" Sheppard says as soon as Rodney's out of his car. He's looking thrilled to see him, which is quite flattering. "How's it going?"

Appalled at the bad syntax, Rodney can't help a huff.

"It being me? My life? The universe?" he asks.

Sheppard's smile widens.

"All of that, of course," he drawls, throwing his chamois aside, and then cocking a hip. Wow, if the guy were not so out of his league, Rodney could think he's flirting.

"Fantastic, everything is fantastic," Rodney says, "and it will be better if I manage to find something to eat, so..." he adds, gesturing to his house.

"If?" Sheppard asks, "You don't look confident."

Rodney winces. He forgot to go to the grocery store again. He should hire a chef or something, someone who could come in and cook whatever he feels like eating. It's not like he can't afford it.

"I'll probably call for pizza," Rodney admits.

"I've got some lasagna left if you'd want?" Sheppard offers, tilting his head. "It comes with a couple of beers."

Rodney's stomach takes the cue to growl, loudly. Sheppard grins, and beckons him with a tiny "come hither" motion, going for the door. Who is he to resist? And to be honest, Rodney's quite curious to see what it looks like inside the house now. A good designer was hired, that's obvious by the disappearance of the greens and yellows that Katie used to have on the walls. And look at that, Rodney doesn't feel like he's in a jungle anymore! It's now very hip and masculine, with tans and reds that make Sheppard's leather clad furniture pop out. There are a couple of frames on the wall, an old preserved King Kong poster that looks original, and a big entertainment system, complete with games and a huge-ass plasma TV. Rodney might stop a second to admire the sheer hugeness of it.

"Pretty cool, huh?" Sheppard says, bouncing a little like a kid. "I just got it."

"Nice," Rodney agrees. His stomach, on the other hand, protests, which is a bit embarrassing.

It prompts Sheppard to continue to the kitchen that apparently got the complete overhaul too, now with granite counter tops and beautiful oak cupboards around all stainless steel appliances. Rodney whistles softly. Okay, so the houses here are pretty expensive, it's one of the nicest neighbourhoods in all of Denver, but that's a costly refit; Sheppard must be swimming in money. Frankly, Rodney doesn't care all that much because John's cutting a big piece out of a pan of lasagna that was left to cool on the stove. Rodney intercepts it before he can put it in the microwave.

"No no, don't bother," Rodney says, opening a drawer and yes, there is the cutlery; he grabs a fork and knife and digs in. It's _amazing_ , and he almost moans around his mouthful of cheesy goodness.

Sheppard laughs.

"Have you eaten at all today?" he asks, visibly amused.

Oh, maybe the ogre look is not the best way to make a good impression on someone this hot. But on the other hand, he has no chance in hell, so Rodney shrugs.

"I have a very active metabolism. This is delicious, by the way. Did you make it?"

It's endearing to see a guy almost blush.

"Yeah, I did. Thanks. If you want you could take some back with you," John says, opening the fridge and taking out two Coors before giving him one.

Rodney would comment on how it's just flavoured water, but he manfully resists the urge and takes it with a small smile. More of that lasagna would be great, better not antagonize the guy.

"I'd love that, I don't have much time to, well, cook anything. Not that I can't, it's basic chemistry after all, but I'm usually working, so..."

"So you order out. I kinda noticed that," John says, taking a sip as Rodney demolishes his plate. Huh, so he paid attention of what was going on at his place. It's... oddly flattering.

"So," Rodney finds himself asking. "No Mrs. Sheppard? Women love men who cook."

John shrugs.

"Nah, not anymore," he says, waving a ring-free left hand and Rodney can't help but to be disappointed that he's now got proof that Sheppard is straight. Too bad. "No Mrs. McKay?" he replies, sounding genuinely curious.

"No. I barely have time to relax, so it generally doesn't agree with potential girlfriends or boyfriends," Rodney says. Outing himself as bisexual, as bluntly as possible, is a way that Rodney used several times over the years to detect people he doesn't have time to deal with. Sheppard's reaction is interesting, as he only cocks his head to the side, and doesn't look shocked at all.

"Too bad," Sheppard says. It's Rodney's turn to shrug.

"In a way. I could use more sex," he says, going to rinse his plate.

Sheppard laughs.

"We could all use more sex," he says.

Snorting, Rodney gestures at him, up and down.

"Please, as if someone as hot as you would have problems getting someone in bed," Rodney says flippantly, but he might have gone a bit far and he feels himself blush. Not that Sheppard seems to mind. "I, huh, I think I should go," Rodney says, going for the door, but he's stopped by a hand on his arm.

"You don't have to," John says, looking perfectly at ease, which reassures Rodney. He then points over his shoulder at the living room. "Wanna try my new gaming system? I've got Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 2."

"Only if you're in the mood to get your ass kicked!" Rodney says with an evil grin. "I'm the king of Modern Warfare."

"What happened with you only having time for work?" Sheppard says with a smirk.

Rodney scoffs.

"My business partner, Radek, insists on stupid ideas to make the workplace 'fun'," Rodney says, stressing the word to be sure to convey the quotation marks. "Supposedly, the new generation needs that, which is, if you ask me, ridiculous. Anyway, he put in place Call of Duty tournaments, and without any surprise, I'm the best."

Sheppard laughs.

"Yeah, right, they just let the boss win to keep their jobs," he teases and Rodney almost chokes.

"They absolutely do not. They'd be fired if they didn't do their best, in everything, and they know it. I'm just too good. And you? Don't stand a chance," Rodney preens.

"This is on," Sheppard says, bouncing to the console after taking two more beers from the fridge. "Don't come cry on my shoulder when you get completely pulverized, McKay!"

"Ha! As if!" Rodney says, sitting on the big couch and accepting his Xbox 360 controller.

***

Four missions in, and having again and again wiped the floor with Sheppard's ass, Rodney crows in delight when he completes his tasks.

John throws his controller towards the TV, frustrated. The guy has one hell of a competitive streak under all the slouching. But he's just not good enough.

"So? Still think my undisputed championship at work is ass-kissing, Sheppard?" Rodney asks him.

"This game sucks," John says.

"No, you suck!" Rodney says, throwing a Cheeto at him. The snacks came out pretty early.

With a last glare, John downs the last of his beer. They've gone through at least six or eight each, and Rodney is pleasantly buzzed. He's surprised at how much fun he's having playing video games with a virtual stranger, who's now looking at him strangely.

"What?" Rodney says, feeling self-conscious.

Sheppard is making him nervous, all of a sudden. Slowly, John smiles, but there's something predatory in there and Rodney's stomach somersaults when Sheppard goes from sprawled on the floor to climbing on his knees on the couch beside him and leaning to swipe his thumb on the side of Rodney's mouth.

"Cheetos powder," he says as way of explanation and Rodney's heart is beating wildly.

Rodney's breath hitches when John brings his thumb to his mouth to suck on it suggestively. There is subtle flirting, and there are big fucking neon signs of 'I want to jump your bones', which is pretty much what is happening here.

"Thanks," Rodney all but squeaks, licking his lip and he still can feel the echo of John's touch. Sheppard zones on his mouth and whoa. "You, ah, you're sure you got it all?"

"Mmmm," John says, cocking his head. "I better check."

This leads to - holy mother of God - John nearly straddling Rodney's thighs before leaning in to lick lightly at the other corner of his mouth. Not able to show restraint anymore, Rodney all but whimpers and fists John's shirt to haul him closer, a hand closing on the back of his neck to keep him in place as they fall into a heated kiss.

John's all heat and sinuous grace under his hands, making sexy little grunts as he tries to rub against Rodney. He's totally taking control of the kiss in a way that is hotter than sin, claiming Rodney's mouth, who's more than happy to let him. Rodney's so turned on, his hands are almost shaking with need as he finally lowers them to open John's pants, but he gets distracted when his fingers rub at the hard erection below the fabric. It makes John break the kiss.

"Yeah, yeah, that's it, c'mon," he pants, looking down at Rodney's hands, who manages to go back on track and undo the button fly, then gets the annoying obstruction out of the way until he can grab John's dick.

"You're so fucking hot," Rodney says, as John strips out of his t-shirt, revealing a quite hairy but perfectly toned chest. Rodney leans forward to suck on a nipple, but soon looks down again, fascinated by the sight of his hand moving on Sheppard's dick. He experiments a bit, trying hard and gentle, slow and fast, then common sweet spots and if fondling John's balls can make him groan. Like the good scientist he is, Rodney makes mental notes of all the reactions he gets.

"Jesus Christ Rodney, stop teasing!" John whines, which makes Rodney smile.

"Okay, okay, I think..." Rodney starts jacking him in earnest, with short hard strokes and using the clues from before. He must be getting it right because John's all but incoherent now, gripping Rodney's shoulders and fucking his fist. He comes with a shout not a minute later, while Rodney's crooning. "That's it, that's it, come on now."

There's come all over his hand and possibly his shirt, but he doesn't even think to protest when John lets his head fall on Rodney's shoulder, panting in his neck.

"Holy fuck, that was good," John sighs happily.

Rodney decides to let him have a moment, patting his back with the hand that's mostly clean.

"Thank you. Feel free to reciprocate," he suggests, making John laugh then kiss him thoroughly, even if there's less urgency in it than before.

"Sure thing," John all but purrs, working on Rodney's pants. "Though I'm not on your level for handjobs, I'm afraid."

Already close, Rodney doesn't think it's going to be a problem. He moans as John's hand finally takes his aching dick out and starts to stroke, long and easy, as if he's got all night.

"If you liked the handjob, I can't wait to see what you think of the blowjob," Rodney babbles. "I've been told I give excellent head."

John laughs, and pumps harder, shutting Rodney up with a kiss.

***

The wonderful smell of coffee makes Rodney open his eyes, but there's something... wrong? First, who the hell paints walls navy blue? He's got to admit that the sheets are to die for, though. The sense of disorientation stays for a second more until Rodney remembers where he is: in John Sheppard's room. More to the point, in his _bed_. Rodney flushes pink thinking of the deliciously wicked things they've done on the couch before John dragged him here, where they stripped each other and kissed lazily until they curled around each other and fell asleep.

It's not that Rodney doesn't appreciate that John obviously went to make coffee, he does very much, but there are other fun ways to wake up on a Saturday morning. Some Rodney might have done to John if he had awakened first. Maybe John plans coming back to bed soon, Rodney hopes. Alas, when John all but runs in the bedroom, he's all dressed up in a sharp looking suit, complete with a white shirt and burgundy tie. Very hot, but Rodney almost pouts, because nice clothes are still way too much clothes. Upon seeing he's awake, John grins and bounds over to the bed.

"Oh, hey there," he says, planting his hands on each side of Rodney's head before leaning in for a minty fresh hi-I'm-happy-to-see-you kiss.

Rodney grabs John's tie and tries to pull him down closer, but John laughs before pulling back.

"No no no, if we start, I won't be able to stop," John says, licking his lips like a guy who would very much love to start something.

"And that's a bad idea why, exactly?" Rodney protests, grabbing John's ass instead, trying to get him to press down on his morning wood.

"It's bad only because I'm late, way late, not even time for a quickie late," John says, while he manages to eel out of Rodney's grasp and get up.

"But it's Saturday!" Rodney exclaims. "Can't it wait?"

Looking truly apologetic, John shakes his head.

"It really can't, I'm sorry. I have to go. There's coffee almost ready?" John offers as an apology.

That means he's going soon, so Rodney should get up too, he supposes. This sucks. Or doesn't suck enough (in the good way), it's a question of perspective. With a groan that admits defeat, Rodney sits up on the side of the bed and starts getting dressed as John goes into the bathroom, and comes back a minute later looking sheepish.

"I'm really sorry, I hate that I have to go like this, but I woke up 15 minutes ago and I'm going to get my ass kicked as it is."

"What time is it, anyway?" 

There's not even an alarm clock in the room, or none Rodney can see.

"It's 10 to noon. I don't even remember the last time I slept past 9," John says, going in front of his mirror to run fingers through his hair. It's disturbing how much Rodney wishes to do so himself. Shaking the idle thought away, Rodney rewinds John's last words and he's surprised that he slept that long, too.

"Oh, wow. And what is it that you do, that makes you run to work on a Saturday?" Rodney asks.

John looks at him for a second via the mirror, as if evaluating, then a smile widens on his face until he's grinning again.

"You have absolutely no idea, huh?" he says, looking pleased.

"I wouldn't ask if I knew!" Rodney says, as he finishes buttoning his shirt. Sometimes, he wonders if he's the only non-stupid human on Earth.

"How about a game?" John asks.

"A game? What are you talking about?" Rodney says as he slips on his shoes and goes for the door, in a quest for coffee if he can't have sex. He'd better get away from the source of temptation.

He hears John following him down the steps.

"A game! You try to guess what I do for a living," John says, sounding way too gleeful for a guy who woke fifteen minutes ago.

"But why? Just tell me!" Rodney says, filling a cup of coffee.

"Because it would be fun?" John says, teasing and crowding Rodney near the counter and he has to do a perilous maneuver to not spill his coffee. John kisses him again, playful and sweet. How is Rodney supposed to resist?

"And how does this game work?" Rodney asks, already relenting.

"You get one guess a day, so choose wisely. If you find out, you can ask me to do absolutely anything you want," John pitches the end of the sentence low and dirty and wow, Rodney knows when he's beaten.

"OK, OK, I'll play," Rodney says, but he what he really wants is to cling to John and not let him go wherever it is he needs to go.

"Awesome," John says with a beaming smile. "You've got to promise that you won't cheat and look up my name on the Internet, though."

Rodney squints at that. Is John famous or something?

"Would I find anything?" Rodney asks.

"You know Google knows everything," John says. "It's cheating; I want you to guess."

"OK, fine, I won't, I promise," Rodney says, and John's steering him - and his precious coffee—towards the door.

"Cool," John says, and before he opens the door he kisses Rodney again, a quick peck on the lips. He then drags Rodney outside and locks his door.

"If you want, I'll come over tonight and make this up to you," John says while he goes for his car, with a gesture that encompasses his kicking Rodney out of his bed and his house.

"You'd better!" Rodney shouts as John gets into his car and revs the engine that's ridiculously large for a car that size.

John grins again, slipping on his aviator glasses, and does a completely dorky wave as he backs the car out of the driveway and then propels the car with an acceleration that seems totally reckless.

Blinking, Rodney looks at him go and... wow. Not only did he manage to sleep with the hot neighbour, but it was not awkward the morning after and John liked it enough to ask for seconds. It's a wonderful, wonderful stroke of his ego.

Now Rodney supposes that he should go tidy up and change his sheets, keeping busy until John comes back from wherever he works. The thought brings him back to the stupid game John seemed so interested about. Rodney hopes it won't be too hard: he wants his reward ASAP.

OK, so cleaning time. Then if he's lucky he'll manage to throw in a couple of hours of work himself. Satellites don't design themselves, and there's also his side project on propulsion systems that should cause a revolution in the field when he'd done with it. Oh and the Ellis proposal, he should finish that presentation, too. Yes, he's definitely got enough work to stay busy all day.

***

Rodney's looking despondently in his fridge, where there is absolutely nothing to eat that doesn't look suspicious, when there's a knock on his patio door that makes him jump in surprise. With a hand on his heart to stop it from beating right out of his chest, Rodney sees that his almost murderer is John, who's waving bags of Chinese food from his favourite takeout place with a big smile.

He hurries to unlock the door and John comes in, accompanied by the delicious aroma escaping from the bags.

"Oh my god, you brought food," Rodney says reverently, taking the bags from John. He starts checking out the contents because it would be terrible to die of anaphylactic shock after such a nice gesture.

John laughs, and then steps behind Rodney and kisses the junction of neck and shoulder, sending a shiver down Rodney's spine.

"Hello, John, it's so nice to see you," John says mockingly and Rodney almost winces. Ooops. That was a given but he sometimes forgets to state the obvious, and it bit him in the ass several times with previous lovers.

"Of course it's nice to see you, John," Rodney says, turning around while John closes his arms around him. John's still smiling, though, eyes crinkling at the corner so he's not pissed off, thank God. "I thought about you all day, in fact."

"Oh yeah?" John says, pleased. "Ditto. Was a bit distracting at times, too," he adds, before leaning in for a kiss.

Rodney kisses back eagerly and John comes closer, all but plastering himself against him. It's glorious, and yeah, the food can so wait. When they part, they are both breathing heavily.

"I couldn't wait to come back, because there's something that I really wanted to do this morning," John says.

"And that would be?" Rodney asks, fascinated at how John's lips are now exponentially more kissable now that he's been actually kissed.

After a grin and a peck, John kneels down at Rodney's feet and immediately starts working on his belt. Rodney is totally in favour of this development.

"I approve of this plan," he pants, helping to shove his pants down his thighs, and John starts mouthing his erection through the cotton of his boxers.

"Sweet," John says, as he makes the boxers follow the pants down, grabbing Rodney's dick with his hand and swirling his tongue over the head.

The rush of pleasure is as fantastic as expected, and combined with the hotness that is John Sheppard now sucking cock and looking as if it's the best thing ever, Rodney finds himself really close to the edge real fast.

"That is, that is, yes, great... I won't last," Rodney babbles and John hums, too busy sucking and bobbing his head to properly answer.

There's absolutely no way to stall his orgasm, it's building fast and strong, so Rodney taps on John's shoulder.

"Any second, shit, I don't know..." but apparently John Sheppard doesn't mind guys coming in his mouth because he doesn't pull off, just sucks harder and Rodney's gone, crying out as he comes. The rush of pleasure zings through him and he almost doubles over, curling towards John, and for a second he worries that his knees are going to give up.

After swallowing - which doesn't seem to bother John either, who's all but licking his lips - John gets up, looking really pleased with himself. There is no choice but to kiss him, and kiss him again. Through the haze, Rodney realizes that John's rubbing lightly against his hip so he breaks the kiss.

"Truly a wonderful plan," Rodney says, "but I think it needs a sub-plan."

When Rodney cups John's hard cock through his slacks, he pushes into the touch with a little moan.

"Sub-plans are generally really great," he says.

"Tiles would be hell on my knees, sorry to say, so no blowjob here and now," Rodney says and to that John almost pouts. "Which doesn't rule out a blowjob later! In fact, I think I all but promised you one last night and I'll deliver. But when I do, I want you to be able to enjoy it, and last, so for the moment I'll go with getting you off efficiently."

"No problem," John says.

It's Rodney's turn to undress John from the waist down. Once free of the belt and button, the slacks almost fall down all the way to his feet, boxers follow.

"Let me know if this works for you," Rodney says, grabbing John's cock and using the tricks he learned the night before to jack him off in - hopefully - all the right ways. John almost chokes.

"Holy fucking shit!" he says, grabbing the counter behind Rodney and looking down in fascination. "How, how... shit I'm coming, I'm coming..." he chants, then shouts as he spills over Rodney's hand.

Rodney circles John's waist with his other arm to stabilize him and John all but slumps against him.

"Okay," John drawls, "that should be embarrassing, but I don't give a fuck right now."

"What? That I made you come in under a minute? I don't think I lasted much longer, so let's not give a fuck together," Rodney says.

"Mmmm..." John agrees, and he seems really happy to snuggle standing up or something. Rodney looks at the food with longing. He sighs a little and pats John's shoulder.

"So, how did it go?" Rodney asks.

"Huh?" John says, not budging. Is he falling asleep standing up like a horse?

"Your work? The reason you threw me out to the curb this morning?" Rodney precises.

That makes John raise his head and smile.

"Real well, in fact. I had a great day," John says. He's not giving away anything, and he knows it. "So, did you think about it?"

Rodney shrugs.

"I don't know. You always leave for work with a suit, weird hours even for me... Obviously you're not poor with living here and the car and all, so maybe you have your own business, too?" Rodney says. It would make sense, but John's shaking his head.

"No, sorry. Maybe one day, but not right now." He kisses Rodney lightly on the mouth and smiles. "Blew your guess for today, now what should we do?"

It's like he was never going to ask.

"We should eat, I'm starving!" Rodney says rapidly and John chuckles. "I only had time to check a couple of cartons..."

"I got Pad Thai noodles, beef and broccoli, red curry chicken and fried rice," John says, pulling up his boxers and pants while Rodney goes to wash his hands, then doing the same.

"Really? Because that's exactly what I usually order!" Rodney says, as he gets some plates.

"I know, I asked," John said. "When they knew you were involved they became all nervous and shot me murderous glares." He continues, puzzled. "What was that for?"

Rodney rolls his eyes.

"I might have been, huh, repetitively thorough in my explanations of how I'm mortally allergic to citrus and how they'd get sued if there was any cross contamination. I can't take any chances."

"Oh, I see," John says, agreeable. "No lemonade for you, got it."

"Don't even joke about that," Rodney says, frowning, then opens the drawers near the sink. "The EpiPens are here, by the way."

When he turns towards John, he's right there by his side with an opened carton in his hand and a piece of broccoli speared on chopsticks held up in the general vicinity of Rodney's mouth. He looks serious, and Rodney doesn't get the feeling of someone who's humouring the hypochondriac he often comes across, which makes him relax.

"Got it. Serious condition. Open up, now," John says, and feeds him the bite when Rodney obeys.

A hot guy who's considerate, with whom the sex is amazing so far and that now has fed him twice? Rodney reckons he might be in love.

***

This time it's in Rodney's bed that they fall, exhausted and sated, after what Rodney proudly thinks of as the most drawn-out blowjob he's ever given. John had cursed up a storm, promising swift death if Rodney didn't make him come, then begged - really prettily - until Rodney finally brought him to completion. Rodney's jaw fucking hurts and he had to get himself off because John was too out of it to be good for anything afterwards, but it was all worth it for the way John is now boneless and sex-stupid.

"Oh. My. God," is what John finally manages to say, after Rodney had time to clean up, wipe John down with a washcloth, and then brush his teeth before climbing in bed beside him.

"I'll take that as a compliment," Rodney says, smug, fluffing his pillow and propping his head on his hand, to look down at John.

John turns to look at him and he looks dazed, still.

"Oh, it is. I don't think I've ever come this hard in my _life_ ," John says and Rodney beams.

"What can I say, I'm a genius," Rodney says.

John stretches like a satisfied cat and Rodney can't help but run his hand on his body.

"Do you want me to go?" John asks, and Rodney slaps him on the thigh.

"No, no, stay please. Well, if you don't mind," Rodney says, hoping he doesn't sound too eager. But John grins and pulls up the sheets, so obviously it was the right thing to say. John takes his watch and pushes a couple of buttons.

"I'll have to get up earlier, tomorrow," he says when he notices Rodney's frown.

"On a Sunday?" Rodney protests. He was looking forward to a lazy day in bed.

John grimaces.

"Yeah, sorry. And, huh, well, when I'm done I have to go for several days, so don't go and think I'm avoiding you or anything," he says.

"Several days?" Rodney exclaims. This is bad news: when will the amazing sex happen, and who will feed him? "Two, three days?"

"Eight?" John says, sheepish. "Yeah, the timing sucks. Now that I know my neighbor is a sex god, I'd prefer sticking around."

Being called a sex god does soften the blow, but Rodney is disappointed by this development. John shifts until be can grab Rodney's neck and pulls him in a deep kiss. With a sigh, Rodney melts into it, and decides to use wisely the hours he has left before John has to go.

***

On the other hand, Rodney muses as he gets home near 10 pm four days later, knowing John isn't there allows him to work late without distractions - save some episodes of lustful daydreaming, of course. He doesn't have to worry that John will take his sixteen-hour work days when there are deadlines looming as an irritant, as had happened time and time again with previous partners.

It does suck that John is gone, though, because in the previously mentioned daydreaming Rodney has made plans. Really, really nice plans. Sighing, Rodney opens the TV and channel surfs a bit, but since there's nothing good, he gets stuck on a horror movie that is appallingly bad. Epic battle of snakes bad, almost. There should be laws against something so mediocre. After a bit, though, Rodney gets almost sucked into it nonetheless and jumps in surprise when his phone rings, just as the moron - also known as the leading man - decides to go back to get one of the girls.

"McKay," he answers, trying not to sound like someone who didn't just get 5 years shaved off his life.

"Hey, Rodney. Hi!"

The lazy drawl leaves absolutely no doubts, and Rodney grins.

"John! Hi!" he says, then blinks, puzzled. "How did you get my number? Not that I mind or anything."

In fact, Rodney's thrilled that John took time to track him down.

"The joys of intelligent phones: I looked you up in 411," John says.

Rodney frowns.

"Oh, my number's public? Well, I'm glad you found it. How's your trip going?" he asks.

"Not so good," John says with a sigh.

"Does that mean you'll be able to come back earlier?" Rodney dares to hope.

John laughs.

"No, sorry buddy, can't do that."

"What is it? Do you sell stuff?" It could explain the clothes and the trips. Selling merchandise that makes a little fortune in commission. "Like a super salesman? Pharmaceutical or, or... oh, maybe you sell weapons?"

Again John laughs, and Rodney can't help but grin even if he knows he's obviously wrong.

"Nope, I'm no warmonger," he says, amused.

"Oh well. It was worth a guess."

"What were you doing?" John asks, and Rodney glances at the TV, where of course the moron came back too late to save the girl anyway.

"There's this absolutely horrible movie on right now," Rodney says. "The many ways it sucks cannot be properly conveyed."

"What's it about?" John asks.

"It's... well technically it's supposed to be a scary movie, but it's only disgusting. There was the required intro with half-naked chicks earlier, who were, I'll admit, pretty hot even with the 80's hair and clothes. I would totally have done the blond with the big rack. That's my usual type, by the way. Not that you are not gorgeous. So, as can be expected in this kind of movie, the lead moron only thinks with his dick and makes stupid decisions over and over again." Through his babbling, Rodney hears John chuckle, which encourages him to continue. "So their fun at the house by the lake gets cut short and... Oh my god, is that supposed to be a zombie?"

***

With a sense of dejà vù, Rodney observes John from the bed as he gets dressed to go do whatever it is he does. John spent way longer than usual in his bathroom, but didn't shave, which leaves him with a very attractive 2-day scruff. Right now, though, he's planted in front of his cavernous walk in closet, in his best silk boxers, fists on his hips.

"I hate this," John whines.

"What?" Rodney asks, getting up. He puts an arm around John's waist and hooks his chin on John's shoulder to looks at the rows of suits, shirts, designer ripped jeans and way too much stuff with the Adidas logo. "I don't know. Maybe you could go with something black?"

John laughs because 90% of what is in the closet is indeed black. He turns in Rodney's embrace to kiss him.

"I could do that. Anyway, whatever I put on, they're gonna want something else," John says, rubbing his prickly cheek on Rodney's jaw.

"Does that mean you're a model?" Rodney asks. It would totally be his luck to be sleeping with a supermodel and not even know it, therefore missing the chance to brag to everyone about it.

"Nah, though for today a little bit, I'll give you that. But it's not my job," John says.

"You're a very mysterious man, John Sheppard," Rodney says. He had over ten guesses by now, and he doesn't even seem to have gotten close, to John's amusement.

"Not really, but it's pretty cool you think so," John says, pushing Rodney towards the bed.

Rodney smiles and backs up, pulling down John with him; he has every intention to mess up the hair John just spent half an hour fiddling with.

***

It's like the street is suddenly invaded by men who wants to overcompensate for something, as sports car after sports car, with the occasional ginormous SUV, park on the street. John had warned Rodney that he was having a BBQ that afternoon with people from his work, but he didn't officially invite him. Since Rodney doesn't know if it's because it was implied, or if it was a voluntary omission, he keeps in his house and peeks from behind the blinds.

By now the party is in full swing, with a quite remarkable proportion of hot people. The guys are tall and look generally fit, complete with six-packs - yay for pools and men prone to take their shirt off - and the women... well the women are drop dead gorgeous and not adverse to bikini tops. There are occasional exceptions, but frankly, it's beautiful people central over there and John fits right in. A dozen kids are running around with a ball in the rear end of John's yard, a couple more are screaming in the pool, and an enthusiastic young man wearing half his weight in gold apparently decided he'd play DJ, with mixed results. The music is definitely playing way too loud.

John seems to be having a good time, at least from what Rodney sees from his vantage point. He's busy with the grill right now, flipping burgers, as a couple of the women set the table and a couple more hover around him, obviously trying to catch his attention. A really pretty brunette is particularly persistent, and Rodney's been eying her for a while now, trying to make her back off by the sheer power of his mind. It's not working so well, and Rodney grows more and more agitated.

The problem is that Rodney doesn't quite know what John and him are. Oh, they fuck every chance they get and John seems to like him all right. On his part, Rodney's pretty sure he's falling very fast for John, but then what? They never talked about it, and John never hinted that this is more than great sex. The night before they watched a movie more than making out, which was a first, and snarked all the way through. John calls when he's away doing God knows what, and Rodney's pretty sure they're friends now - they get along great. But other than that, Rodney doesn't think he's earned the right to be jealous and to want to rip the brunette's crimson nail out one by one when she dares touch John. John's not taking advantage of the situation, Rodney notes with pleasure; he watches John managing to side step the girl more often than not.

Since watching from afar doesn't give anything good, Rodney sighs and goes back to the plans on his table to work a little. There's something that he doesn't like in the lines of the drone, it should be more aerodynamic. It's hard to focus with everything going around and around in his head, though. He's been staring the schematics for at least ten minutes without results when there's a knock on his patio door. Surprised, he looks up to see John with a plate complete with burger and trimmings, and it's as if all the tension leaves Rodney in a rush. He grins stupidly, and gestures at John to come in.

"I brought you food, since you didn't seem to want to come over," John says.

Rodney's right next to him in an instant, putting the plate on the counter before taking John's face between his hands. He kisses him deep and dirty, enough that John whimpers and grabs his upper arms tightly. When Rodney releases him, John's pupils are blown wide and he's panting.

"There. A little something for you to think about while that girl flirts with you as if it's a competitive sport," Rodney says.

John blinks, and then starts to smile.

"Are you jealous, Dr McKay?" he asks.

Since it doesn't seem to be much of a problem, Rodney shrugs.

"I won't lie, I don't like it," he says.

He gets a thorough kiss for that, then some very nice jaw nibbling.

"I'm not interested in her, anyway," John says. "One of the guys is trying to play matchmaker, but he doesn't know I'm sorta seeing someone right now."

Rodney feels he's sporting a ridiculous grin again, and he has to refrain from a little dance of joy.

"Very good, then," Rodney says instead, licking behind John's ear and loving how it makes him shudder.

"I have to go back," John says, although he doesn't seem thrilled. "Are you sure you don't want to come over and have a beer or something?"

Now that he knows that he was invited, Rodney isn't sure he wants to go anymore. Every sign tells him that he wouldn't fit in at all.

"I don't think so, I have to work," Rodney says, pointing to the plans on the table. "Go, have fun. Try not to drunkenly drown in your own pool. See you tomorrow when peace and quiet comes back to this fine neighbourhood."

John laughs and kisses him lightly before letting Rodney go.

"Okay, fine, be antisocial," he says, going back to the door. Rodney stops him with a question.

"Hey, you told me those people are your coworkers, right?" he asks. John nods, studying Rodney intently all of a sudden.

"Yeah, some."

It's been nagging at Rodney since they started arriving, but there's one or two faces that he might have seen before, but he cannot pinpoint where exactly. Hot guys, hot bods... Rodney hopes it's not what he's thinking.

"I'm open minded as much as the next guy, really, even more so since I'm bisexual and Canadian, but as you just learned I'm not that big with sharing and... well... I'm not so sure if I'd be comfortable..." Rodney knows he's babbling and John looks completely confused.

"What are you talking about?" he asks.

"Just tell me you're not a porn star?" Rodney says, half bracing for a blow-off.

John's reaction, after gaping like a fish, is to double up and start laughing so hard it comes out in horrible braying sounds.

***

John is away for a week. _Again_. It sucks.

There is only so much nagging he can do in the labs at Pegasus before the minions plan mutiny, so Rodney heads to his empty house. He used to love the quiet... Now he finds it a bit lonely. Rodney gets ready for bed and he's eying the phone, which is staying suspiciously silent. Normally, by this time John has called already, if only to say goodnight. That he didn't makes Rodney imagine the worst: injury, accident, that he's growing tired of him after all. He's always been a worrier.

Finally, finally, when it's almost half past midnight the phone rings. Rodney answers on the second ring, too stressed to pretend he's cool.

"Hello?"

"Hi. Sorry I'm calling this late, things got complicated," John says and he sounds kind of tired.

"Are you okay?" Rodney asks.

"What? Yes, I'm fine," John says, but he doesn't sound that good. "It's one of those days."

"One of what days? Jeez, could you be more vague?" Rodney says, exaggerating the attitude just because he knows it makes John smile.

"Days that make you wish you never got up," John says. "That kind."

"It sounds pretty bad," Rodney says. He flips through the scenarios he'd thought about before, and even if he never saw evidence that John owns a gun, it's not so hard to imagine him with one. He saw John pissed one day, after hearing some yelling he could not quite decipher from inside John's house. He'd come out in his backyard to vent, and a couple of lawn chairs had suddenly been airborne. Even from the other side of his fence, it was obvious to Rodney that John Sheppard had in himself the potential to be a very scary man.

"Bah, nothing I can do now," John says, then sighs.

"Are you as special operations agent or something? Or a spy? Called regularly for perilous missions in enemy zones, that kind of things?" Rodney asks. "Bond would love your wardrobe _and_ the car."

John laughs, and already things feel better.

***

When Rodney gets back from a day filled with endless meetings, he sees that John's home, which is great. He opens the door of his own house just to put his briefcase and laptop in the foyer, locks up again and crosses over by the backyards. John's patio door is open, so Rodney calls out as he goes in:

"John? It's me!"

"I'll be right there," John yells from wherever he is.

Since he's starving, Rodney goes right for the fridge. That's one of the many great things with John: he's generally fully stocked on tons of good food. Rodney frowns when he sees a couple of child drawings held up on the door with magnets. That's new. John never elaborated about being married once upon a time, and for sure never mentioned a kid. There are two colourful messes, and obviously not by the same child. One portrays two stick figures smiling wide and holding hands, a blond girl and a guy with green eyes and black hair, with half a dozen pink hearts around them, complete with "Mindy + John". The other one is a beach and a guy on a surfboard, obviously from a kid that's a bit older this time, signed "Amanda".

Rodney doesn't quite know what to think of that, to be honest. He grabs everything he needs to makes sandwiches, and he's busy putting mayo on the buns when John finally arrives in the kitchen, workout clothes drenched in sweat but looking amazing nonetheless. Must have been in his torture room, then, also known as the location of all those exercise machines. He grins and tries to take Rodney in his arms, who dances away after a peck.

"Ew, ew, stay away! If I didn't make it happen, I want nothing to do with your perspiration!" Rodney says.

John laughs and gets a water bottle, then manages to almost drain it in three gulps. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hands and is smiling still.

"Okay, okay. But you'll have to help me clean up, then," he says with an eyebrow waggle.

With a theatrical sigh and totally fake annoyance Rodney makes a 'whatever' gesture.

"Fine, I guess I can do that," Rodney says, before giving John a sandwich and taking a bite out of his. He leans on the island and points towards the fridge. "Nieces?" he asks around his bite.

John frowns, but when he sees that it's the drawings that prompted the question he shakes his head.

"No, no, I do have nieces, but those are from kids at the hospital. Amazing, right?" John asks as he goes closer to examine them. "It breaks my heart every time," he says gently, his smile very soft now. "Those kids are warriors."

"Cancer? Stuff like that?" Rodney asks quietly. John nods and sighs. "So you're some kind of doctor, then?"

John shakes his head no and turns to hug Rodney, which he doesn't do often, and holds on tight. That's why Rodney lets him get away with it, sweat be damned.

"No. Though times like today I wish I was, so I could do something," he murmurs, and doesn't let go.

***

It just happens that Rodney's looking through his living room's window - no, he's not stalking at all, shut up - when he sees a taxi pull up at John's. The cab driver almost vaults out of his door to let his customer out: it's John, with a cast and a pair of crutches. Rodney hurries to put his shoes on and he's there to take John's keys as he tries to open his door leaning precariously on one crutch. The young taxi driver, who's wide eyed and clutching his money, is hovering around and Rodney shoos him away.

"I've got this, thank you," he says, then frowns at John, worry making him brusque. "What the hell did you do?"

"I'm fine," John all but snarls. He hops in his house as soon as the door is opened. He goes to the couch and sits down, propping his foot encased in an elaborate plastic contraption on the table. "The doc just got paranoid. He doesn't want me to move my ankle for a bit, and didn't trust me to listen to him, so he locked me up in this. Which is total bullshit, if you ask me," John adds, glaring at the device.

Not quite knowing what to do, Rodney hovers, gets a pillow for John's back, then another one for his foot and goes to fetch a bottle of water in the fridge. All the time, he babbles at John.

"I will admit that sometimes doctors make really stupid decisions, not taking under consideration all of the relevant facts, but caution is good, no? You just take it easy for a little bit, and I'm sure you'll be up and running around, literally, real soon."

"But this sucks, Rodney! I can't..." it's like John was about to say something, but he rephrases. "I can't work with this! I couldn't even drive my car," he says with an exaggerated pout for a guy his age.

Rodney sits next to him and starts massaging John's thigh. If John can't work with a cast, it means he has to do physical stuff, or at least walk around. And how does someone injure an ankle like that? Probably while doing something heroic.

"Fireman?" he asks, since they have really weird schedules, or so he heard. John's mouth at least twitches up at the sides, which is a plus. "Well, I love cats, so if you fell down while rescuing one from a tree, I promise I won't laugh. Much."

"Nope. You're really bad at this game, Rodney," John says, amused now.

"I know. And it's driving me nuts, I don't like being bad at anything," Rodney says.

"I know something you are really, really, _really_ good at," John says, eying him with a look that could melt a glacier. "I'm pretty sure it would make me feel better, too."

Rodney smirks.

"You want to play Call of Duty?" he suggests.

John rolls his eyes and grabs Rodney's hand on his thigh to bring it to cup his dick.

"I'll give you another guess."

***

It really sucks that there is a big deadline on the drone project while John's home. Rodney has to revise everything before he sends the blueprints to make a prototype and he doesn't have one minute to spare. Of course that means John comes over and leans on every available surface, looking enticing. He's wearing tight jeans and a black button down shirt, and Rodney's concentration slips.

"Go away, you incubus. I told you that I can't hang out, come back tomorrow," Rodney says, putting his hand on each side of his head like blinders, so he sees only the plans.

"But Rodney," John whines. "It's a big day today at work!"

Which makes no sense whatsoever, and that gets Rodney's attention. He looks up at John and frowns.

"And?" Rodney asks.

He's never seen John look so fidgety. It's possible that John even blushes slightly before he blurts out:

"I always do better when, you know...", John says, rubbing the back of his head.

"You're better at your work if you get laid first?" Rodney exclaims and John smiles sheepishly.

"Something like that. I think you bring me luck," he says, prowling over and wow, Rodney thinks, that man is sex incarnate. John stops behind Rodney's chair, bends to start kissing his neck. "C'mon, help me out," he says, pitching his voice low and Rodney starts getting hard. Oh, he wants, so much, but it's a question of principle, he won't be coerced like this.

"I told you, Sheppard, I don't have time, sorry. Go jerk off, I'm sure you can manage that on your own," Rodney says.

John sighs deeply, but instead of going he pulls a chair and drops down on it. Rodney doesn't look, but he's pretty sure John must be pouting.

"You're no fun when you're like this, Rodney," he says, whiny. "Maybe I should jerk off right here."

The mere idea of it almost makes Rodney choke on his spit. But Rodney doesn't look, and John doesn't go through with it and instead sighs again. In fact, John doesn't leave as Rodney works and after a minute he takes some papers on the table and starts reading: it's the course correction equations that have to be programmed in the drones. Rodney will have to check them out later.

"This doesn't make sense," John says, after ten minutes. Rodney's surprised he hasn't left by now.

"Of course that doesn't make sense to you. Could you stop bothering me?" Rodney says.

"No, I mean this equation doesn't make sense. There's a parenthesis missing, probably a typo. Whatever this is, it will crash and burn," John says, pushing a sheet towards him and tapping on an equation near the bottom of the page.

Rodney blinks, pulls the paper and oh my god, Sheppard is right. Who's the idiot...? Then it hits him: John understood this enough to find a mistake? What the ever-loving fuck? He raises his head to gape at John, who's smirking and more than a little proud of himself.

"What? How? Are you in academics?"

John grins but shakes his head.

"Nah, though I do have a degree in engineering. I'm just not using it right now," he says.

This is so hot. Rodney knew John wasn't stupid, but this... he's always been turned on by intelligence. And he's all for positive reinforcement. He slides from his chair to the floor in front of John and starts undoing the buttons on John's fly, who laughs.

"Whoa, okay, what happened to not having time and the tiles being too hard for your knees in the kitchen?" he mocks, before moaning when Rodney pulls his cock out and licks it from root to tip.

Rodney shoots him a glare.

"Do you want me to blow you or not?"

John's face is a bit flushed, his dick hard as a rock in Rodney's hand, and he moves his hips a little looking for friction.

"I'm shutting up right now," he says, making the motion of zipping up his mouth and throwing the key.

Satisfied, Rodney goes back to work.

***

John's on the phone, stretched on a lawn chair by his pool like an all-you-can-eat buffet, and he does a little wave when Rodney crosses into his yard. Not for the first time, Rodney wonders how he got so lucky that a guy like that even stopped to give him the time of day. But John smiles, and there's genuine happiness to see him - that much is obvious - and it makes something flip in Rodney's stomach. He grins back.

"No, no, I told you, get rid of it. All of it," John stops, frowns. "Do I sound like I care? Sell everything."

He sighs, rolling his eyes at Rodney, probably to bond over the idiocy of minions.

"What? Oh, no, I'm keeping those. I know Pegasus Unlimited is real high at the moment," John continues, this time winking at Rodney. Talking about the stock market, then. "No, I don't think so. It's gonna go higher still."

Damn right their value will go up, Rodney thinks smugly. Especially when they get the contract for the drones. Cheyenne Mountain's brass had been extremely satisfied by the prototype. Once they get the drone contract, he's going to try and get a toe in the deep space telemetry projects that he's been hearing about. Rodney pulls a chair under the shade of the maple trees and sits down. John has the best chairs, and they go all the way flat, too.  Rodney gets comfortable, and he's wondering if he won't take a nap when John wraps his conversation.

"That's it for today, yes. Okay. Good, I'll check online and get back to you. Thanks. Ciao."

"You better not be sleeping with me only for insider info," Rodney teases, not opening his eyes.

John snorts, and his hands are now at the hem of Rodney's t-shirt, tugging up. Rodney helps, sort of, and John gets rid of it. Rodney slightly opens one eye and John urges him to turn on his belly. Not seeing a good reason to refuse, he does so.

"It's not _just_ for that," John says, before straddling Rodney's thighs.

"Is that what you do? Sort of a Wall Street wonder boy?" Rodney asks, still curious and annoyed at not knowing what John does; he's been saying the most ridiculous things lately, just for fun.

"In Colorado? No, Rodney," John says, and Rodney tenses when there's suddenly a splash on his back: he hadn't realized that John had sunscreen. But sunscreen is good. It's great, even, since John starts to rub it in an exquisite manner. God, the hands on that man. He might moan a little.

"You know, I think I'm gonna start to think that you have no interest in making me do whatever you want. It's a bit disappointing," John says.

"I already do whatever I want with you," Rodney says, groaning when John starts working on his trapezius. "Oh, yes, that's great, don't stop."

Even better, John bends down and licks a hot stripe up Rodney's neck, and then whispers in his ear.

"Oh, there's ton of stuff we didn't try yet. I'd let you cuff me, if you'd want," John whispers in his ear and Rodney shudders all over. Yes, please.

He's going to try harder.

***

Rodney looks into John's fridge and scolds. There's basically nothing; it's like a personal affront.

"Why is there no food?" he asks, when John comes in.

"Because I just came back and didn't have time to get some?" John says, looking over Rodney's shoulder. "You rely on me way too much, Rodney. You should try going to a grocery store sometimes."

Oh, Rodney knows he should, but he hates it. And he's been too busy lately to bother with actual errands, even for food. With a sigh, Rodney closes the door.

"I'll call for pizza, then," Rodney says.

John snatches the telephone before Rodney can reach it.

"No," John says. "I've eaten in restaurants all week. We're going to go buy something. I'm thinking steaks."

Rodney follows as John grabs his keys and sunglasses, going for the door.

"Okay, fine, I'll be working at my place, call me when you get back," Rodney says, walking past John and thinking about the emails he has to send.

John laughs and grabs Rodney's arm before he crosses to his driveway.

"Oh no you don't! Since you eat more than half my food, you're going to come with me to buy it," John says.

"But why? It's not productive at all!" Rodney exclaims.

John looks at him as if someone kicked his puppy or something, then says in a whiny voice.

"We never do anything together, Rodney."

It's like a flashback from so many girlfriends and Rodney's gaping, panicking that he's starting to fuck things up, until he notices how John's fighting very hard not to laugh.

"You almost had me there," Rodney says, rolling his eyes. "Ok, let's go, I'm starving."

"Can we take your car? Mine doesn't have much trunk space," John asks and Rodney shrugs, throwing him his keys.

"That's what happens when you insist to drive something with more horsepower than utility," Rodney says, getting in the passenger seat.

They banter back and forth until they reach the grocery store, and Rodney's relieved to see that it's not too crowded. The downside of buying groceries when famished is that Rodney's suddenly craving _everything_ and John's cart is getting pretty full. They're checking out the wall of cereal boxes, when a small boy who must not be much over 10 years old suddenly comes forward and smiles shyly at John without saying anything. John smiles back.

"Hi there," John says and the little boy literally beams, which makes Rodney frown, wondering what is going on. He had noticed that the kid had been sort of following them around.

"Hello Mister Sheppard," the boy says. "Could I have an autograph, please?"

An autograph? It doesn't seem to surprise John, who smiles some more.

"Sure, do you have something for me to sign?" he asks and the boy's face almost falls. John reassures him. "Go find something and I'll wait right here, I promise."

With another grin, the boy turns around and sprints, crying out "Mom, mom! I need..." before turning the corner and getting out of sight. Rodney raises his eyebrows at John, who's now looking at him with curiosity.

"An autograph?" Rodney says.

John shrugs.

"Yep."

"So you're famous?" Rodney says, kind of surprised because John's a pretty down-to-earth guy, not a diva at all.

"Yeah," John says, rubbing his neck, looking almost embarrassed as if he's not sure Rodney's going to like it. Before he can say anything else, the boy is running back to them, a white shirt with something written in purple in one hand and a sharpie in the other that he shoves at John, who chuckles. His mother, a nice leggy blond, is following, and upon seeing John she flushes pink.

"Oh, hi," she says, while John uncaps the pen, but he's focused on the boy.

"What's your name, buddy?" he asks.

"Alex," he says, and John scribbles on the shirt before signing it. The mother is babbling.

"Thank you so much, Mr Sheppard, he's a big, big fan," she says, and John ruffles the kid's hair.

"Cool. It's my pleasure," he says, smiling at her too, and Rodney's appalled at how she looks as if she's about to faint. "I gotta go, ice cream's going to melt," he adds with a wink and she giggles, gathering her offspring as John turns and starts pushing his cart towards the cash registers. "Bye Alex."

"Bye!"

John throws Rodney a look that urges him to follow, which he does after grabbing a box of Cheerios.

It's only when everything is paid and they're on the road that Rodney speaks up again.

"Okay, so obviously I'm missing something here," Rodney says and John laughs, throwing him a sideways smile.

"You think?"

"I've never seen you in a movie, that I can remember... do you host a kid show or something? Oh, or maybe some kind of anchor at the local station? Fly to Hollywood every other week?"

John laughs again, delighted.

"And that would be no," he says, and looks at him with so much affection that Rodney can't help to smile back. He's kind of glad he got it wrong, _again_ , if it makes John happy.

****

John's hair is soft and Rodney loves to play with it, especially when John's head is pillowed on his chest like this. He scratches John's scalp methodically and it's like it turns the man liquid. If it weren't for John's little open-close movements with the hand on Rodney's belly, eerily similar to a contented cat, Rodney would have thought he was asleep. It's comfortable, though, and more and more Rodney doesn't feel the need to fill the silences when he's with John like this. They're good together, and not just because of the mind-blowing sex.

"I miss you when you're away," Rodney says, and wow, he hadn't planned saying anything like that. So much for comfortable silence.

John hums and stretches, then hugs him a little.

"Good. Because I miss you too," John mumbles.

That's great news. Rodney can't quite get it out of his head that John's famous, though, and that therefore everyone must be trying to get into his pants all the time. Rodney knows he's not that special, apart from the genius.

"You must get, you know, propositioned a lot," Rodney says, and almost winces at how insecure it sounds.

John moves, much to Rodney's chagrin, going to his pillow, and Rodney rolls to face him. He's brought this up; good idea or not, chickening out of talking about it would be pretty lame. John sighs, and he looks so serious.

"I get hit on all the time," he agrees and yeah, that doesn't help.

Rodney wants to roll on his back, doesn't want John to see the worry that suddenly seizes his chest but John stops him, and puts a hand on his face.

"Hey, hey, wait. They hit on me because I'm famous, they want something, would love to brag that they slept with John Sheppard. Heck, some do even if it's not true," he says, sounding a bit jaded. It must have happened. "They couldn't care less about me. You're different."

Swallowing hard, Rodney can imagine that, how everyone would want a piece of John as a trophy, and miss how wonderful he is.

"I don't give a shit who you are," Rodney says and John grins.

"I know." He leans forward to kiss Rodney softly. "So don't worry about that, okay? Please. You've got to trust me."

Rodney can imagine that John must have dealt with jealous girlfriends and boyfriends a lot in his life, so he nods.

"Okay, okay. I do trust you. But when it doesn't work for you anymore, please, promise that you'll break up with me before you do anything. That's all I ask," Rodney says and it makes John look sad. He nods though.

"Of course, but I don't plan on that happening," John says, kissing him again sweetly. Rodney can feel him smile against his mouth. "I'm kind of crazy about you, you know."

"Really?" Rodney says, stomach flipping. "I mean of course, I'm fantastic," he continues, trying to break the too serious mood.

"Mmm hmm," John says, gathering him close. "Totally. And the way I see it, when you win your Nobel, you'll be happy to have me and know I'm not with you because of your fame either."

A sound argument.

"Very true. Science groupies are pretty relentless. Speaking of, I'm this close to securing a big, big contract," Rodney says. It's going to be so huge.

"Oh yeah?" John says, though he's starting to kiss at Rodney's neck, which is pretty distracting.

"Ellis is reviewing the fine print of the proposal, or so he says. What a load of bullshit. We're the best, and he knows it," Rodney grumbles.

"Do some PR, golf, whatever. I'm sure it will sway him your way," John says, licking behind Rodney's ear and God, that sends shivers all over.

"That's, ha, that's an idea. I think he likes baseball, of all things," Rodney says, trying to get John to roll on top of him.

"Baseball's great," John says, now sucking at Rodney's pulse point. "I know people, could get you good tickets."

"Okay, okay, thanks, that would be great... hey, wait," Rodney grabs John's ass, grinds hard against him. Oh yeah. That's pretty awesome. "Yes, just like that."

John settles between his legs and kisses Rodney, deep and dirty. When he finally lets go, he whispers against Rodney's mouth.

"I want to fuck you again," he says, rubbing against Rodney. Frankly it's a bit surprising; although they switch from time to time, John is usually eager to bottom. But this is good, too. "I just can't get enough of you," he adds, before kissing Rodney again.

Rodney keeps a hand behind John's head while he taps around the bed until he finds the lube with the other, and pushes it at him.

"Yes, do it," Rodney says when John sits back to rolls down a condom and coats his cock with lube. "Come on already!" he says when John stays there, looking at him with heated eyes. He's so gorgeous.

John lines up and pushes in completely with one steady thrust that makes Rodney moan. He's still loose from before, and there's not even a little burn. John then stretches on top of him, elbows on each side of Rodney's head, fingers cradling his skull. He then kisses Rodney again, intent and thorough, as if he plans to do only that all night. It's not that it isn't good, but Rodney tries to squirm, kneads at John's ass, and tries to get John to move. When nothing does, he clenches as hard as he can around John's dick, which does the trick. John starts moving maddeningly slow, and he stops kissing Rodney just enough to talk in his ear.

"Only you, Rodney. You've got to believe me," he says, voice rough, pumping harder now. Rodney rakes his nails against John's back, trying to find purchase because he's coming undone, fast.

"Yes, yes, okay. I do. God, harder," he says, trying to move with John the best he can. John bites his shoulder, hard, making Rodney cry out in surprise and his dick, trapped between their bellies, twitches hard. John kisses the bite, licks a bit, and Rodney wonders if he broke the skin: it hurts.

"And you're mine," John all but growls. "Mine, mine, mine," he says with each powerful trust now and Rodney's taking it, hanging on to John's upper arms with a death grip now, hooking his ankles together at the small of his back.

Pleasure builds up fast and Rodney keens, wants to go over the edge so bad, but he needs someone to touch his cock, just a bit, and John's still pinning him down and fucking him hard.

"Mine, Rodney, never forget that," John says again, rhythm erratic; he's close, too. "C'mon, c'mon, give it to me," he adds, breathing harshly against Rodney's mouth, "show me you're mine."

With that Rodney's gone and he comes with a shout, untouched, and it's sharp and bright. John follows almost immediately after, freezing for a second on a thrust, and then moving through it with a long groan, sending more sparks through Rodney. When he finally stills, Rodney squeezes him with arms and legs, hard. John's panting, still cradling Rodney's head, and he starts planting little soft kisses on his temple, his jaw, his ear. Rodney thinks he should say something, but for once words fail him, so he just holds John closer.

***

Rodney doesn't understand how some people are hired in the fast food business when they are clearly incapable to be efficient. You'd think someone with any management skill would screen their employees so that they'd manage to sell their damn hot dogs to the hordes waiting impatiently for them and ready to go to their seats! Rodney assured Ellis that he could go sit down and check the start of the game from there, even if they can see the field from the food concourse. Rodney will admit not playing attention too much, though, still nervous that they got to the stadium so close to the first pitch. Rodney had no idea that he'd have so much trouble parking around Coors Field and had offered in apology to bring the snacks by himself.

He's now navigating towards his seat with two beers and six hot dogs, even if they truly are ridiculously overpriced. Rodney's mantra tonight is to think of the contract, smile and make sure Abe Ellis has a good time. People clap as a ball is hit sharply, directly into the hands of a player, and that's obviously the third out because the team on the turf starts running for their dugout. Rodney excuses himself to the five people between the aisle and his seat, but finally manages to sit down without any food-related incidents. Ellis turns to him with a smile.

"Those are really excellent seats, Dr. McKay!"

And they are, two rows from the local team's dugout, half way between the plate and first base. John surely delivered. Rodney passes Ellis his beer and tries to balance the box with the hot dogs on his leg.

"I'm glad you like them. Please, call me Rodney," he says with what he hopes will be interpreted as a friendly smile, though internally he feels as he's going to be sick. Kissing ass has never been his style; he's not sure he'll be able to sustain a basic level of pleasantry for the duration of the baseball game. He should have sent Radek, who has way more social skills.

"Only if you call me Abe," he says, but his eyes are already back on the field, with an honest-to-God smile. "It's been too long since I've seen a ball game. And tonight, of all things, with the championship pending... this is fantastic."

A championship? Rodney has no idea what he's talking about, but it obviously works in his favour. The first hitter of the home team comes at bat and the noise level kicks up a notch, with too-loud music and cheering. Now that he looks around, most people are dressed all out with their team's colors, waving ridiculously large hands or other signs. Rodney's always preferred hockey, but baseball is okay too, generally, as long as you don't try to watch it on TV. In a stadium, with people around, the green of the field, a good hot dog and sipping a beer? There's potential for something that is not just a waste of time. Especially if it gives him the Ellis contract.

Rodney's letting his eyes wander in the stadium - it's his first time here - checking distance and the curve of the structure and the view of the Rocky Mountains when the first hitter strikes out. It seems that Ellis doesn't feel the need to chitchat all that much, which is a relief, and Rodney's taking a sip of his beer when they announce the second hitter.

_Hitting second, the second baseman, and number 2, John "Deuce" Sheppard!!!_

The crowd cheers to the intro of a heavy rock song and there's a second where Rodney's sure he's hearing things. But then the giant screen in left field right in front of them lights up, a couple of stories high, with a close-up of John in a baseball cap, smirking at the audience, and a series of stats right under it. Rodney almost sprays out his beer and ends up coughing as it goes down the wrong pipe.

Unhelpfully - it's been clearly demonstrated that it's not a good idea to do that - Ellis taps Rodney's back.

"Are you okay?" he says, looking concerned.

Now what Rodney can breathe almost normally, he's staring as John walks towards home plate - because yes, he'd know that gait anywhere - and takes place at bat. In uniform. Looking extremely, extremely hot waving his stick around.

"A baseball player! John's a fucking baseball player!" Rodney says, still shocked.

Ellis frowns at him as if he's an alien.

"Huh, yes?"

Rodney windmills a little, he knows, but this is huge.

"But he's my neighbour!" Rodney says, trying to reconcile this with the suits, the trips, the kids in the hospital, the autographs and... Fuck, okay, he really sucked at that game. Immediately his thought derails: is finding about John's job like this is the same as guessing, or did he blow his chances at a cuffed Sheppard in the near future?

"You know John Sheppard?" Ellis asks, sounding vastly interested.

Rodney shushes him because John's waiting for his pitch now, and wow, when he swings it's a thing of beauty, all grace and perfect curve. The bat hits the ball with a sharp click and John's running to first, getting there way before the relay. Rodney cheers with the crowd. As John trots back to his bag, he looks their way, searching the crowd and when their eyes meet; John grins wide and waves at him. There's nothing else to do but to smile back. Holy shit.

"You do know John Sheppard!" Ellis exclaims. "He's your neighbour?"

John is so much more than that. But yes, that Rodney can talk about for sure.

"Yes, he's the one who gave me these tickets," Rodney says and John had known, then, that Rodney would find out. It must mean he was tired of their little game.

"You didn't know he was _the_ John Sheppard?" Ellis says, still disbelieving, and Rodney's caught between the need to explain himself and just staring at John, there at first base.

"Obviously not. Is he any good?" Rodney asks and Ellis starts laughing.

"He's the best second baseman in the league, so yeah, he's pretty good," he says.

It makes Rodney smile, oddly proud because of course John would be great at whatever he does for a living. At the moment he's talking with the first baseman from the other team, smiling, making him laugh. It looks an awful lot like flirting, and Rodney knows all about John's flirting look. The pitcher throws him dark looks between pitches to John's teammate at the plate, and once even pitches to first, but John's back easily. Rodney's wondering at first if John was ever teammates with the guy, because they seem to get along so great. Suddenly John, who had been innocently getting further from the bag, starts on a sprint to second base. The fans cheer and Rodney cannot help but wince when John slides to second, spikes first, getting there a fraction of a second before the relay from the catcher. He's safe, although totally dirty now, and there are some horns blaring, and a cartoon of a masked thief stealing a base on the big screen.

_And this makes it the 65th base stolen by John Sheppard this year!_

Ellis is whistling loudly, and Rodney finds himself doing the same. John Sheppard is a baseball superstar. Holy shit.

***

Rodney's not sure if he's cut out to be watching live sports events with any kind of significance for someone he cares about. John has done great so far, though he's stayed on base twice already with his team failing to bring him home - failing to score any runs at all, in fact. Since John doesn't seem to be able to be average anywhere, Rodney's learned that he's collecting golden gloves, too, a very solid pivot at second base who turns double plays as easy as breathing. Rodney witnessed three: in the second, fourth and fifth inning.

"God, he has such great hands," Ellis had said the third time.

Rodney, who was eating a pretzel, had almost choked, zoning on all the ways John had awesome hands indeed.

They are now in the bottom of the 9th, and the Rockies—as team names go, it's less stupid than most - are trailing by three runs. The crowd is getting restless, a lot less cheerful that they were earlier in the game. If the Rockies lose this game, they'll be missing the playoffs, and even if Ellis informs him that "it's not over until the fat lady sings", there are people who are starting to leave. Rodney is a bit despondent, too, as he eats deep fried oysters.

The first hitter manages to hit a single through the middle, and it's like the mood changes instantly. A tall and muscled dude comes to bat next, which seems to send the girls sitting behind Rodney into a frenzy. The stats on the board seem good, so Rodney can understand the enthusiasm, but he suspects the excitement is more because the guy's hot than for his batting average. Obviously, the other team evaluates he's dangerous enough, because they give him an intentional walk.

"It's a good gamble for the Padres," Ellis says. He's taken upon himself to instruct Rodney in the marvellous strategies of baseball the whole game. Usually Rodney would have hated it, but Ellis had proved to be interesting and insightful, which is great because suddenly Rodney has a deep need to know these things. He is so, so screwed.

The next batter is the center fielder, the Rockies' first hitter and Rodney finds himself cheering for a guy he didn't even knew existed three hours ago. The noise is picking up, encouraging with "Fowler! Fowler!", reacting to pitches called as balls with cheers, though the guy soon has two strikes. All Rodney wants is for the dude to do his job and hit the ball inside the fucking lines, because the foul balls demonstration that he's got going on at the moment is really hard on his nerves. Ellis is on the edge of his seat, too, so it must be a normal reaction.

When the next pitch comes, the batter recoils and the crowd cries out. Rodney has no idea what happened, but John's teammate throws his bat to the side and trots to first while the other two players change bases, too.

"What, what?" Rodney asks, knowing he missed something big here.

"He got hit by the ball," Ellis says.

Indeed, the play is shown again on the screen, and yeah, that must have hurt, a pitch a bit too much inside that stroked the side of Fowler's thigh.

_Hitting next, let's give it up for John "Deuce" Sheppard!_

And oh my God, yes, it's John. Rodney was too engrossed in the previous player to notice John in the on-deck circle. The crowd is cheering like mad as the first measure of "Enter Sandman" follows John to the plate once again. Rodney was told the title earlier and it's a bit ominous as music goes, but he can't deny that it's very effective. For sure, it's way better than some pop songs that other players seem to have gotten as anthems.

Rodney just cannot take his eyes off John, who's kicking the dirt, getting in position. There's something in his expressions, utterly focused, that gives Rodney chills. John's there to do damage, and every single soul in the stadium, the opponents' pitcher included, knows it. The crowd is pounding on every possible surface - seats, the floor, their hands - with three rapid blows and a short pause, then starting all over again. It makes a deep and powerful thumping, echoing in Rodney's chest. Oh, god, Rodney finds himself saying, make John hit the ball.

The first pitch is a ball, inside again but John avoids it easily. There's a rumble and boos, but everyone gets in place again and Rodney realizes that he's slowly turning the cardboard box that formerly held nachos into confetti. This, Rodney decides, it more stressful than his second masters defense. Back then he knew that it was just a formality before they gave him what was his due, while here there are so many factors to consider. The second pitch John lets pass again and it's a strike, though Rodney protests - as thousand of others do too - because it might not have almost hit John this time, but it was clearly way out of the strike zone.

"Come on, come on, come on!" Rodney says, leg jittering, and he's almost - almost - tempted to cross his fingers.

"Take your time," Ellis is saying, as if John can hear him or anyone else.

The next throw comes fast and John does his ridiculously elegant swing, and when the bat hits the ball sharply it cracks in the night air. Rodney jumps to his feet, as it seems everyone does, but the ball's been hit hard towards the right field, zooming past the second baseman. It's cheering all around while one runner comes in fast to score the Rockies' first run. Rodney's looking anxiously as the ball is falling to the ground, and god, it looks like the right fielder will cut it short, when out of nowhere the center fielder seems to have decided that it's his ball and the two of them collide, hard. It's so violent that the two men fall down, and meanwhile the ball, that hasn't been touched, still rolls towards the backstop in the right field.

Back on the bases, the Rockies third base coach is wind-milling, pushing a second runner to go to the plate, then a third since he's on the other guy's heels anyways. Rodney's yelling "go go go go!", eyes fixed on John whose running like nothing is going to stop him, ever. In the outfield, someone got near the ball, at last, and the third base coach gestures for John to stop there. Apparently, John does not agree.

"Holy shit!" Rodney exclaims when he realizes that John is definitely going for home, and the relay is coming in fast towards the infield, then for the catcher, who's blocking John's path. It's going to be close, so very close and John slides headfirst, diving for home plate. The catcher grabs the ball and brings his glove down, and there's a fraction of a second where 50,500 persons hold their breath. Until the umpire extends his arms in a 'safe' gesture, that is, and the crowd literally goes wild.

The sound is deafening as John is pulled up and glomped by his teammates, the whole bench emptying to go to him. Ellis is whistling like mad and Rodney can't help the stupid grin on his face. The whole stadium is in a frenzy as the speakers start playing "We Are the Champions", soon chorused by all. Rodney's never considered himself a big sports fan, but he's covered in goose bumps and vibrating with adrenaline. The Rockies just won 4-3 and secured the title, and it's all because of John. Okay, others did their part too, but Rodney's sticking to his version and he exchanges high fives with the people sitting around him when they offer.

"Unbelievable!" Ellis is saying, and in a fit of insanity Rodney grabs his shoulder in a half hug, as if they're friends, and Ellis just smiles wide. "An inside the park Grand Slam, I can't believe it!"

"I know!" Rodney says, all but bouncing in place.

On the field, John's still getting hugged and his ass slapped by everyone and their mother, but at one point he turns to look in their direction, searching.  He looks so happy when he meets Rodney's eyes, who makes a show to applaud pointedly. John hits his chest with his fist and does a fist pump, which makes the crowd cheer, then he steps down in the dugout. Someone somewhere starts chanting "Sheppard! Sheppard!" and everyone follows suit, Rodney and Ellis included. Rodney's so proud, his chest could burst. John walks right out, lifts his cap in a salute - his stupid hair springing up - and it's whistles and pandemonium all over again.

***

It's been hours now that Rodney's dropped a smiling Ellis at his hotel - he so has that contract - and then checked the news and the Internet to learn more about what happened tonight and John in general. An inside the park grand slam is quite the accomplishment; only 40 of them are on record since 1950, 8 since 1990, and it turns out that John Sheppard is one of the biggest superstars of the Major Leagues, traded to Colorado this summer.

If John's generally discreet with his car, being the polite neighbour that he is, tonight it's not the case. Rodney can hear him finally getting close to home from at least two stops over. He parks in his driveway and Rodney opens his door to see John bounding over, a wide grin on his face that Rodney can't help but mirror. John hops the stairs to Rodney's door two by too and almost body checks him inside. Rodney manages to swing the door shut, but he's pushed against the wall immediately, John plastered against him.

"Hi," John says, still with his big stupid grin and then proceeds to kiss Rodney stupid. He's manic and tastes of champagne, hands going directly for Rodney's fly.

Rodney's generally for enthusiasm, and in fact his dick is agreeing with what is going on at one hundred percent, but he wants to do this properly. It's not easy because John's totally into it, but Rodney breaks the kiss and pushes him a bit away.

"Bed, we need to get to the bed," Rodney pants. He manages to manhandle John off him and then decides to lead the way to the bedroom before he changes his mind.

"I want you so bad," John says, voice gravelly as he follows.

When Rodney gets in his bedroom and turns, he gapes, because along the way, John lost his shoes, jacket, tie and shirt and he's working on his pants. There's something predatory in John's attitude and Rodney only has second to brace himself when he realizes that John's about to pounce. He falls on the bed, with John on top, who's now tugging at Rodney's shirt to get to skin.

"C'mon, c'mon," he urges, and in less time that should be physically possible they're both naked and rubbing against each other while kissing like there's no tomorrow.

"What do you want?" Rodney manages to ask when John's comes up for air. "I'll do whatever you want," he says.

John laughs.

"It was supposed to be the other way around!" he says, playfully nipping Rodney's neck.

Rodney smirks.

"And I never guessed right, so yeah, there goes that plan," Rodney says. "I think my alternative has potential."

With a humming sound, John pushes up on his arms to look down at him, eyes dancing with mischief.

"Definitely. Can I have a rain check? I have to think about it," he asks.

"Sure," Rodney says, convinced that whatever John will come up with, he should like it. "But for now, what do you want? I could blow you, or..."

"I want to fuck you," John declares immediately.

"You're really getting into that," Rodney says, a hand already going towards the nightstand for the lube.

John's still grinning like a maniac.

"You saw what happened! I hope you like it Rodney, because I'm fucking you as often as possible," he says.

It takes a second for that to make sense, but then Rodney roll his eyes.

"You can't really believe that fucking me brought you luck," Rodney says.

Making a serious face, John nods.

"Yep. I hit better on days we have sex. I have a spreadsheet to prove it," John says.

Rodney laughs.

"Well if you're going to sweet-talk me..." he says, but it turns into a moan when John rolls his hips, making all kinds of sweet friction happen. Rodney had something to say, though: "I have nothing against getting fucked, but I want my turn sometimes. I am _not_ giving up your tight little ass."

It's John's turn to laugh, and then he licks Rodney's neck before whispering in his ear.

"You know how I love when you fuck me until I don't even remember my own name," John says hotly.

Rodney does know indeed, and yeah, if John doesn't get going, he's going to take charge here. But John's slicking his fingers and finally starts prepping him, with a running commentary of statistics he got at bat since they started having sex, and which act gives the best results. It's a mix of total geekiness and dirty talk that proves to be highly effective. When John adjusts the numbers with the results of tonight's game as easy as breathing, Rodney shudders. They're both pretty far gone and in minutes Rodney's begging John to get his dick in him already. John finally pushes in, maybe a bit too fast, but then stills to give time for Rodney to adjust. They're plastered chest to chest, Rodney's legs fastened around John's waist.

"Oh fuck, Rodney, you feel so good," he says, panting against Rodney's neck.

John feels fantastic, too, and Rodney shimmies a little, then slaps John's ass when he doesn't start to move.

"I'm okay, come on, fuck me," he urges.

It unfreezes John, who starts to thrust, short powerful snaps of his hips; Rodney knows this is going to be quick. It's not a problem, though, because he starts to feel the tightness of his incoming orgasm coiling inside already, building steadily. When John licks his hand then starts jacking him off, Rodney's there, coming so hard he might forget to breathe for a second or three. John's grunting and fucking hard, losing his rhythm and that's it, he's gone too. When he's done fucking through the aftershocks, John pulls off and lets himself fall down right beside Rodney. He makes himself comfortable, with his head on Rodney's chest and a leg and an arm thrown over him. Rodney wonders how many people know the great John Sheppard is a cuddler.

"So baseball, huh?" Rodney says.

"Yep," he answers. John starts tracing swirly patterns on Rodney's chest. "You know, at one point I began to wonder if you weren't playing me, and knew all along who I was."

"I wasn't. I had no idea," Rodney says.

It makes John stretch and go back to his pillow to look at him with a smile.

"Cool," he says, kissing Rodney softly. Rodney catches his neck to be a bit more thorough, which causes John to make a sweet little sound before he pulls back. "It won't be a problem, I hope?"

"Watching you in a tight uniform? I can handle that. Though you need to bring one of those over, one of these days," Rodney teases.

"And he's already objectifying me," John says with a put-upon sight, but it's clear that he's just kidding.

"Every chance I get. You were fantastic tonight," Rodney says.

It makes John beam.

"It was awesome, right? God, what a rush," he says.

"I'm glad I got to see that," Rodney says. "Though at one point I thought I'd pass out from the excitement."

John grins some more.

"You say it's stupid, but I really think you brought me luck. Maybe I should take you on the road with me," John says, eying him speculatively.

Rodney scoffs.

"Please," he says, though the idea of following John on the road and act as basically his love slave/good luck charm has its appeal.

"Well, for sure you're getting tickets for the series," John says decisively.

"Oh yeah?" Rodney says, but he doesn't feel like protesting too much.

"Yep."

"I can do that," Rodney says.

"And season tickets for next year, too," John adds, trailing fingers softly on Rodney's arm, but he's not quite looking at him.

"Is that so?" Rodney says, pleased as punch because John sees them still together months from now. It makes his stomach get full of butterflies.

"Yeah," John says seriously, and then looks up at him and grins. "I've always wanted to make an unassisted triple play."

   


The End.

**Author's Note:**

> I remember having lots of support while writing this fic from my McShep Match team and more... thank you everyone who cheered me on and gave advice (no specifics because I would surely forget names!)
> 
> The prompt was Grand Slam :)
> 
> theses were the original notes on the fic:
> 
> \---
> 
>  **Note:** In baseball, a grand slam is a home run hit when there is a runner on each base, and results in four points for the team at bat. It is said to be an inside the park grand slam if the ball never leaves the playing surface (doesn't go over the fence for example) and no error is made by the team in the field. It's one of the most spectacular play in the game, and only happened 40 times since 1950. (stats of 2010)
> 
> ***
> 
>  **Annie Savoy:** [narrating] Baseball may be a religion full of magic, cosmic truth, and the fundamental ontological riddles of our time, but it's also a job.
> 
> \- Bull Durham (1988) 
> 
> As for the title, it comes from this exchange:
> 
>  **Annie Savoy:** These are the ground rules. I hook up with one guy a season. Usually takes me a couple weeks to pick the guy - kinda my own spring training. And, well, you two are the most promising prospects of the season so far, so I just thought we should kinda get to know each other.  
>  **Crash Davis:** Time out. Why do you get to choose?  
>  **Annie Savoy:** What?  
>  **Crash Davis:** Why do you get to choose? I mean, why don't I get to choose, why doesn't he get to choose?  
>  **Annie Savoy:** Well, actually, nobody on this planet ever really chooses each other. I mean, it's all a question of quantum physics, molecular attraction, and timing. Why, there are laws we don't understand that bring us together and tear us apart. Uh, it's like pheromones. You get three ants together, they can't do dick. You get 300 million of them, they can build a cathedral.
> 
> \- Bull Durham (1988) 
> 
> ___
> 
> BTW Bull Durham remains one of my favorite movies of all times.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed and thanks a lot for reading!


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